


On Strings

by jellofiend



Category: Dissidia Duodecim: Final Fantasy, Dissidia: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy VI, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Character Death(s), Dubious Consent, F/M, Manipulation, Twisted Attraction, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellofiend/pseuds/jellofiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kefka dies during a cycle, leaving Terra alone and aimless, and free to fall under anyone else's command.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Strings

**Author's Note:**

> There is too little Sephiroth/Terra out there and it's a real goddamn shame, ok, given the delicious, disturbing potential this ship has. This fic came out of a 'what-if' scenario I had going in my head that was inspired by Sephiroth's opening battle line to her in the first game.
> 
>  
> 
> _[Revised & title changed 30/11/15]_  
> 

For a few hours, everything is fine.

The binds on her mind loosen little by little. She sees enough, feels enough, to get a sense of where she is, of _who_ she is.

The floor is splattered with blood and Kefka’s clothes blend in with the pool under his still form.

She is Terra Branford.

His eyes are glassy, his painted lips frozen in a little ‘o’. He’s not smiling, not anymore.

She’s a girl with blond hair and blue eyes and fire crackling at her fingertips.

He stares at her, but not really; she’s just in his line of sight. He can’t see her anymore.

She’s more than a girl. Or is she less?

Shakily, she stands, the muscles in her calves aching.

She walks away on her own and Kefka can’t follow her, scream at her, or order her to walk behind him and go where he leads.

A few steps after she leaves the tower, the terror grips her.

 

She tries to stop sobbing, but it proves to be impossible.

For as long as she can remember, she’s never had to think on her own, never had to control her own actions. Now that she can, she feels aimless. The world is vast and lonely, and the thought of navigating it all on her own makes her want to scream out loud.

She buries her face in her hands, slumps against a pillar, and heaves.

In the distance, there are clanging noises, like chains banging against walls, and she shudders, shrinking away.

The noise comes closer and closer, until it stops directly in front of her.

For a moment, there’s silence.

“Where is Kefka?” The voice is deep, almost threatening, but the tone is soothing, gentle.

Slowly, she looks at the man – encased in a large suit of armor, his face hidden from view – and promptly breaks down in tears again.

 

“What use is this girl to us now?” A feminine voice, disdainful. “The only person who could make her use her powers is dead.”

Terra remains on the floor, curled up with her face against the wall, away from the group of people assessing her.

 “What do we do with her?” A young boy? She doesn’t know. Her head hurts.

 “We should put her out of her misery.” A more mature voice, masculine, cold and emotionless.

“No one touches her until Chaos gives his orders.” The man in the armor.

“How do you know Chaos will think any differently than Sephiroth?” Another man, his voice slightly higher than either of the other two.

“I do not. But you cannot guarantee that he will think similarly to Sephiroth. That is why we must wait.”

Terra turns her head a little, her sore eyes struggling to remain open. In her view, there’s the armored man, another man next to him wearing a suit of golden armor, and another one standing far to the left with long silver hair who's dressed in a black coat.

That one spares her a single glance before walking away.

 

Chaos makes his will known.

Terra wallows in her misery.

The others toss her aside anyway. She’s of no use to them, a marionette with cut strings.

She wanders the fragmented pieces of a dozen worlds like a listless ghost, going wherever her feet take her, unable to find a purpose.

Sometimes, she’s found, by warriors who serve the other side. They try to fight her, but she turns and runs. Runs and runs until they stop chasing, until their shouts are faint whispers.

 

Other times, she runs into ‘allies’. They sniff and turn away, or they’re too busy fighting and trying to survive to pay her any mind.

She gets into the habit of not approaching anyone, leaving as soon as she’s seen them, finding some other empty place to continue her aimless journey.

But then…one time…

One day, it changes.

She doesn’t mean for it to happen, doesn’t really understand _why_ it happens. But it does.

In a sea of green, she finds her purpose.

 

A man is crumpled on the floor. He’s familiar, yet not. He has long silver hair, a long silver sword. He’s in pain.

And a young woman is standing over him, gasping, triumphant. Relieved. Her knuckles are raw and bloody, her knees skinned.

Terra slowly comprehends what she’s seeing.

“I beat you!” The woman exclaims, clenching her fists. “You’re done for. You’re….you have no power. Not anymore.”

The man grunts, blood dripping from his mouth. He has eyes as green as the sea around them, sharp and bright like knives.

She looks at his face and reaches into her mind, trying to find a name.

“It’s time to finish this.” The woman says, her voice steely. She draws back her fist.

This man was there, with the armored man. He's an ally. His name is....Sephiroth?

He's injured and he can't help himself any longer. She...she's supposed to help him.

He closes his eyes and waits for the killing blow.

The incantation is on Terra’s lips before she fully realizes what she’s doing, her instincts flaring into action.

Screams fill the air in an instant, along with the smell of burning flesh and hair. She watches the flames dance, orange and red lights. Her fingertips are warm.

The woman stumbles back, flailing about.

Sephiroth’s eyes snap open in shock. He inches back a little, mouth dropping open. The woman falls to the floor, writhing, then twitching, then finally going still.

Terra breathes in sharply.

The sound attracts his attention, and he turns his head and finally spots her above.

The silence stretches on.

 

“She saved me from being killed.” Sephiroth says, his grip tight on her elbow. “I can’t _believe_ …it was an ordinary fire spell. It wasn’t even fira.”

“Fire is her strong point.” Chaos says, and his eyes are red, and they’re on her, and then on him. “Her spells with that element are more powerful. Not that her other elemental spells are lackluster. Not even remotely.”

Terra stares blankly at the horns on the demon-god’s head, hearing the conversation, but muffled, as if she’s on one side of a wall and they’re on the other.

 “Only Kefka could make her fight before. She never used her powers on her own, only when he instructed her to. What changed?”

“Kefka is dead.” Chaos replies dryly. “His power over her is broken. Now she can do what she wants.”

“Why save me?” Sephiroth asks, and he sounds like he’s trying so hard to burrow into her mind.

“That’s something only she knows.”

Sephiroth stops then, probably subsumed by his thoughts. Terra’s elbow hurts, sparks of pain shooting from there to her entire arm.

“Do you think, perhaps…that she will now fight for me?”

Chaos chuckles. “Why don’t you give it a try? With Cloud’s death so recent, you could use a new charge.”

 

She doesn’t tell him to let go.

 

There’s nothing but a lot of silence to get used to.

Sephiroth proves to be a kinder master than Kefka.

It isn’t that he’s affectionate, or nice, or very considerate. It’s just that he isn’t deliberately cruel.

Terra has spent as long as she can remember being taunted, being screamed at, occasionally being shocked with thunder spells when she takes too long to obey.

With Sephiroth, there’s just long stretches of time without words. Just standing in a corner while he plots and plans in his head, only barely acknowledging her existence.

The only time he asks anything of her – and he does ask, not command, although he knows that she can’t decline – is when there’s enemies to take care of.

 

There’s one thing, and only one, that Sephiroth has in common with Kefka.

The sharp glint of pleasure in his eyes when her flames incinerate a Cosmos warrior.

 

She finds herself coming back in snatches, her being forming into a blurry outline that blinks in and out of existence.

It’s everything Kefka tried to suppress, and Sephiroth can’t care less about.

She begins to do more than stand around like a stately doll. She looks around and she finds beauty in the orange skies and the carved pillars. She sits cross-legged atop the castle in the rift and feels the wind in her hair. She coos over moogles and pets them.

She’d forgotten what happiness felt like.

 

One day, during a fight, she’s knocked down and nearly killed by a warrior from the other side. The man’s face is ashen, his hands trembling. She sees pity in his eyes for a split second, but he raises his axe ever the same.

There’s a spark igniting fear in her chest, and she’d forgotten what that felt like too. To not want to die.

She turns her head away, hoping that it’ll happen quickly, that it won’t hurt too much.

She flinches at the sound of steel cutting through flesh, a squelching, crunching noise that turns her stomach.

She waits for the pain, for the gush of blood from her neck, for the end.

But it doesn’t come.

Opening her eyes, she looks up at her assailant, and gapes at the long, thin sword sticking out from his chest.

In a flash, it withdraws. The axe falls from the man’s limp grasp, and he follows it, landing lifelessly at her feet with a thud.

Sephiroth kicks his body out of the way, and pins her with a stare. Then, he bends down and offers her his hand.

His eyes are vibrant, his hair a veil around his face.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, wrapping her small fingers around his.

For a second, she feels a jolt, like being shocked by thunder.

“Be more careful next time.” He says, letting go as soon as she’s on her feet. “The enemy knows they’re losing, and their desperation grows with every comrade that falls.”

She nods, mind more on the way her fingers are tingling.

She doesn’t remember ever feeling like this.

 

For days, she tries to put a name to it.

Spins around in circles in her mind, her fragile sense of self twisting with it, protesting at the stress.

Her heart feels like it’s weighed down with stones, like it’s rotting beneath them all.

And she finds herself unable to look away from Sephiroth.

It’s strange. Almost disgusting. How could a person live like this?

How…

 

Sephiroth fights, and when he fights, it’s…not a dance. His movements are too razor-like, too quick and brutal and efficient to be as graceful as a dance.

No, it’s more like watching a tiger in action, after it’s hunted down and cornered its prey. Watching it play with its meal, savor the fear, before it goes for the jugular.

 

She decides she doesn’t like fighting. Hurting others sickens her, makes her heart ache and her hands tremble.

But she can’t say no to him. And when he hurts others, she can’t bring herself to want him to stop. It’s the only time she feels like she sees who he is.

 

And he is a monster. Bad, wrong. Evil.

And he’s beautiful, like a sculpture created by an artist that loved their creation to death.

He smiles like a wild animal snarls.

And she thinks it’s a lovely sight. She thinks it’s the closest thing to perfection she’ll ever see.

And she’s scared out of her mind.

 

One day, he breaks away from the complicated plans and schemes in his head and glances her way.

Finds her staring.

She starts, a gasp escaping her throat. Every nerve in her body screams at her to look away.

But he holds her gaze steady, and she finds herself lost to the intensity of his eyes.

Something claws down her chest into her stomach.

He’s the one who ends the moment, closing his eyes and turning his head away.

 

But she knows that he’s aware of it now.

She doesn’t even know what to call it, but he’s already recognized it.

 

Even so, nothing changes from his end. Their times spent together is still silence, then fighting, then silence again.

And she feels foolish for letting herself get drawn into him. On some level, she hates their situation with the fury of a thousand firagas.

She hates that she can feel, misses the numbness and mindlessness of Kefka’s influence.

 

Nothing changes.

 

They end up in battle with some of the last of the Cosmos warriors still standing.

It’s a pair of young men, one of them equipped with, curiously enough, a tail. They’re friends, true comrades, looking out for each other at every turn.

Terra follows Sephiroth’s orders, volleying spells at the one without a tail while he corners the other with a flurry of slashes.

They put up a valiant effort, but in the end, one falls to a particularly vicious fira. The other, distracted by grief, is stabbed through the abdomen and thrown off the edge.

Terra falls back, squeezing her eyes shut at his fading scream. She feels almost lightheaded, her breathing erratic, and allows herself to droop a little.

There are hands on her shoulders in an instant, pulling her up, pulling her _in_.

She opens her eyes in confusion, and finds herself inches away from Sephiroth’s face.

“How do you feel?” He asks, and her voice won’t work, and her heart begins to hammer against her ribcage.

She brings her hands up, curls her fingers into his coat.

There’s the slightest hint of a smile on his face, his eyes uncharacteristically warm, as he leans in.

There’s a choking noise in the back of her throat, and she almost pulls away, but ultimately, she stays.

 

The air is knocked out of her as she’s slammed to the floor. She barely has the time to register what he’s doing, and there are warm, ungloved hands on her thighs and her jacket is being flung over her head, and there’s a ripping sound –

“Wai—“ She gasps, clutching his arms, but he’s too far gone to stop and listen, and she’s silenced by a bruising kiss that hurts and makes her ache deep down in her belly.

His fingers find her, slip inside, and she twists and bucks and cries out against his tongue. He presses his thumb hard against her clit, and she digs her nails into his shoulder.

He breaks the kiss to stare down at her, lust blazing in his eyes. Removing his fingers, he drags her up and pulls her into his lap, tugging the tattered remains of her leotard away.

Shivering, she looks away as he reaches up and undoes her hair, letting it fall over her shoulder. She looks back when he grabs her hands and brings them to the lapels of his coat.

He stares at her expectantly, waiting for her to strip him, but for a moment, she’s frozen, unable to decide what to do next.

When too long a time passes, he makes a noise of impatience, and removes the coat himself.

Terra sucks in a deep breath, eyes raking over his chest. Shakily, she reaches out and touches the pads of her fingers to a stretch of smooth skin.

He reacts by doing the same to her, caressing her stomach and the skin just under her breasts.

Tentatively, she leans in and presses herself against him, arching at how _good_ it feels to do so, how warm he is.

He wraps an arm around her, burying his face in her hair. He runs his fingers up and down her spine, and she sighs in pleasure.

“It’s strange.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. “How I’ve let this happen.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t have allowed this with anyone else.” He says, and then pulls away to look into her face. “But there’s something about you….”

She stares down at him, saying nothing.

For a while, he doesn’t say anything either, lets the silence stretch out between them like a dark road. Then, he reaches up to cup her jaw. “I can see now why Kefka was so taken with you.”

She bites down on her lip, feeling both hot and cold at the same time.

Sephiroth smiles, and it’s strange, devoid of warmth. There’s a sharp, sudden sound of a zipper being pulled down. She feels heat pool between her thighs. She wants to cry.

“You’re a much better puppet than the one I had before.”

 

The last of the Cosmos warriors falls the next day.

Chaos wins the fight.

 

She awakes to a splitting headache, but in a moment, it vanishes.

Everything does.

“Get up.” A shrill voice commands, and her limbs scramble to comply.

“Uh?” She manages, staring blearily into the stark white, blood-mouthed face of a wildly grinning man.

“Ah, my lovely little doll. I could just look at you forever.” Kefka chirps. “Buuuut….there’s no time to play around! We have _work_ to do.” Turning, he snaps his fingers. “Follow me!”

Without question, she does.

 

**End**


End file.
